by Joe Buonfiglio

I’ve become so disgusted with social media — Facebook privacy scandals, Twitter trolls, even this blog has me questioning my whole role in degrading the online experience — that I decided to shut down the whole goddamn thing! Just flip the metaphoric light switch to the “off” position and have my entire online presence simply go dark.


And then, I wimped out. I stopped the Big Delete of all my social-platform accounts just before pulling the trigger.

As “Are you sure you want to delete your account?” popped up to challenge my decision, I began to second-guess myself.

What if I was making a mistake?

Won’t I miss all the fun parts and family and friends? Isn’t that all worth the bullshit — the intolerable bullshit — I’ve endured playing the clown of the social-media circus?

My immediate answer was, “FUCK NO! Social media is a stinking cesspool of shit populated by pure, unadulterated evil writhing in a communication mire of imbeciles hoping to make a name for themselves by conquering anyone disagreeing with them via shoving the face of perceived adversaries deeper under the shit than they find themselves!”

Now while that might seem a bit in the realm of a drama queen, it did beg the question, “Am I in danger of becoming one of those— those— those absolute assholes?”

So, please pardon me if this post diverts from my usual banality in Absurdist literary fare to something wrapped in the cloak of true Absurdism: American politics. Inspired by a recent tweet of mine that begged the question of whether or not the good old US of A has moved from being politically ideological to idiot-logical, I thought it worthy of my time as a writer and yours as a reader to if not thoroughly flesh out and expand upon this notion, at least explore it slightly beyond a limited character-count quick jab on social media. I wish to merely pose a query to which we can all ponder and debate … CIVILLY, FOR ONCE!

Now, I really don’t want to get into the motivations of our politicians; the vast majority of them seem to not give a shit about our country beyond maintaining personal power by preserving party dominance. Most of them see their job after being elected as immediately working to be reelected. That’s it; a perpetual-motion machine of political existence for existence’s sake. No, I’m more concerned about those political hacks’ and whores’ constituency — “We the People” — In other words, US.

And that brings me to this tweet:

That pretty much sums it up. See, like Domino’s, social media is only the delivery vehicle; WE are the pizza itself. The collective “we” in America seem to have given up on seeking “the truth” and only desire to reinforce “my truth.” And the longer this tumor upon the lungs of democracy is allowed to fester and grow, the greater the chance our democratic republic dies.

What do we do about it?

At this point, damned if I know. We have gone from being ruthlessly ideological to outright IDIOTlogical. Government isn’t the problem; it is just a reflection, the mirror image of ourselves. WE THE PEOPLE are the real problem. We’ve reached the point where truth is but a lie if it dares to in any way challenge MY truth. This myopic belief system is but a cancer that seems to have metastasized from the general population into all of our once-trusted, once-revered institutions; threatening to bring them down with our rageful, willfully propagandized ignorance. I truly believe it has gone too far for our nation to ever recover from the utterly destructive effects of our unyielding polarization overriding any empathy, sympathy or compromise.

So yes, I am considering shuttering all of my social media. While I know full well that will not solve the problem, solve anything, at least I will be less likely to have to witness the excruciating end, the horrible death rattle of this once-great nation when it comes. You all battle it out on social media. As for me, I’m going to turn that whole cacophony of crap off, sit here sipping coffee, eating pancakes and reading a good book.

… an Absurdist book, of course.


© 2018 Joseph P. Buonfiglio     All Rights Reserved.
All photos are © 2018 Joseph P. Buonfiglio with All Rights Reserved.



by Joe Buonfiglio

WARNING: This is not so much a blog-post this week as it is a throw-your-hands-in-the-air-with-absolute-resignation confession that I capitulate to the realization that there is not a thing — not one goddamn thing — I can do to stop or even hinder in any significant way the utter inevitability that is the fall of civilization and the ultimate destruction of humankind at its own collective hand.

… written in the form of an e-missive.

Thank you.

And so….

Dear Mark Zuckerberg:
Dear Cambridge Analytica:
Dear US Politicians:
Dear US Citizenry:
Dear Donald Trump:

You win. I cry uncle.

There are just too many of you immoral, unethical, fraudulent, unprincipled, depraved, corrupt, unscrupulous, scandalous, narcissistic, deceitful, lying, sociopathic, arrogant, greedy fuckers out there. And if you bring down one, a hundred more crop up to take their place.

With this acknowledgement feeling more like an onerous recognition, I have decided to take one of two possible courses of action left to me:

APPROACH ONE: I shall either head north and walk out onto the tundra to be mauled by a white bear, or perhaps head south in the hopes of being gang-banged to death by a horde of horny Emperor penguins.


APPROACH TWO:  I will simply walk naked out into the tick-infested woods behind my house and let the little parasitic pricks swarm upon and suck me dry right down to my soul without complaint or interference on my part whatsoever.

As long as the end involves my corporeal husk being discarded into the harsh cruelty of that bitch Mother Nature, either tack works for me.

So, goodbye family, goodbye friends, goodbye associates, goodbye tacos on a Tuesday night, goodbye scary clowns that make me crap myself, goodbye TV news talking heads projectile puking the propaganda of the day, goodbye Port Authority bus terminal restroom at two in the morning, goodbye “BACK IN 10 MINUTES” tollbooth operator in the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere, goodbye insomnia and night terrors, goodbye paying taxes to see my hard-earned cash flushed away in pursuit of some worthless political-pork projects, goodbye supermarkets that never have any baggers, goodbye “Why am I the only one who can replace a toilet-paper roll around here?!” moments, goodbye inconsiderate goes-to-the-burger-joint-and-orders-the-fish-sandwich-that-brings-the-drive-through-lane-to-a-halt-for-the-rest-of-us guy, goodbye sneaky elevator-fart lady, goodbye bartenders who don’t know how to make a proper fucking martini, goodbye catheter commercials when I’m just trying to watch a little TV while I’m eating my damn lunch, goodbye goodbye goodbye goodbye good-FUCKING-bye! Sinking into the nihilistic despair-machine I call life in the modern age, I do not blame the “cruel world” for what I now must do; just all the greedy power-mad sons-a bitches who inhabit it.

And cotton candy.

Cotton candy has a lot to do with it.

Sticky bastard.


© 2018 Joseph P. Buonfiglio     All Rights Reserved.



by Joe Buonfiglio

As the era of the Trump presidency brings the good ol’ US of A to its knees, when the final death rattle is heard in all its excruciating finality, here is what I will miss most about our grand experiment in democracy after it’s gone:

I WILL MISS St. Patrick’s Day as celebrated only the way Americans can. It is the only time when a bright-green urine stream does not warrant an ambulance ride to the emergency room.

I WILL MISS farting while riding the tourist-packed horse-drawn streetcar at Disneyland’s Main Street USA, and then looking at the conductor as if the malodorous offense was all his doing.


I WILL MISS pulling a “dine-n-dash” at Denny’s restaurants across this land after consuming several Grand Slam meals and enough tomato juice in which to submerge an Ohio-class submarine.

I WILL MISS Publishers Clearing House and its myriad ways to provide years and years of false hope to the desperate and the gullible across this glorious nation.

I WILL MISS the food at State Fairs and the delightful way it surprises you by not immediately inducing a heart attack right there in front of the pig-insemination display next to the tractor-racing pit.

I WILL MISS being a sports fan, as if sitting my fat ass on the couch swilling cheap beer and putting back prodigiously copious quantities of Buffalo wings while watching actual athletes compete on television somehow made me one of them.

I WILL MISS revering movie and TV celebrities; holding them in higher regard than people who cure diseases or strive to aid their fellow man in times of crisis or, you know, other losers like that.

I WILL MISS discount bulk-warehouse shopping, as if I could actually drink 30 cases of diet soda before they started going flat.

I WILL MISS dancing on the graves of departed coworkers…. … … … … Oh, right. I suppose that’s just me then.

As if.

I WILL MISS bacon. Real bacon. Not that turkey shit. And Canadian bacon is ham, damn it! Don’t come pushing that faux-bacon crap around here!

I WILL MISS indoor plumbing. Outhouses in the dead of a South Dakota winter just don’t make for super-happy fun time, you know what I mean?  IT SHOULDN’T FREEZE TO YOUR ASS!  IT SHOULDN’T FREEZE TO YOUR ASS!

I WILL MISS Florida. No reason. Just Florida.

I WILL MISS portion size. Big, huge, fuck-the-rest-of-the-starving-world portion sizes. A portion size that just says, “We throw away more food in a week than you probably eat in a year.”




Super-size it? Do you even have to ask?

I WILL MISS credit cards. Buy now. Never pay later. Declare bankruptcy. BRILLIANT!

I WILL MISS the salt-sugar-fat conspiracy. Nobody did food addiction like America.

I WILL MISS professional golf.

Okay, that’s a lie.  I won’t miss professional golf.  NOBODY will miss professional golf.

I WILL MISS spray-food in a can: spray whipped cream; spray oil; spray cheese. God, I’ll miss American innovation. Genius. Pure fucking genius.

I WILL MISS suing everyone for every little thing. We are so delightfully litigious. Fender-bender? SUE! Dog poops on your lawn? SUE! The hot coffee you ordered has the nerve to be delivered, well, hot? SUE-SUE-SUE! Weaponizing the law is as American as legalizing weapons.

And finally,

I WILL MISS drive-through colonoscopies. Sure I liked drive-through burgers, drive-through pharmacies and even drive-through beer places, but drive-through colonoscopies were America at its finest. Pay at window #1, and then right up to window #2, drop trou, stick your ass out the car window and in no time at all, that camera is up your—

What do you mean that’s not a thing?

My doctor has been doing it to me for years. It has to be a thing. Because if it’s not a thing, then—


Forget it!   I’m not going to miss anything about America when it’s gone! Because, if you can’t trust your neighborhood drive-through gastroenterologist, who can you— OH, GODDAMN IT!


© 2018 Joseph P. Buonfiglio     All Rights Reserved.


The (New) American Civil War


by Joe Buonfiglio

If nothing else, Absurdism is alive and well in America. This is an important thing for the country, however, because apparently, it takes an Absurdist such as I to realize that America is fated for another Civil War.

As an Absurdist writer in America, I am experiencing this sort of strange and unnerving blend of emotions ranging from and oscillating between pride, pain and panic; the three Ps of my philosophy (which is the fourth P, I guess).

Anyway, at the time of this writing in March of 2018, the United States is tearing itself apart in sort of a “Cold” Civil War, a war of words, thanks to the election of, actions by and revelations concerning one Donald J. Trump, the 45th POTUS. Now whether you’re in the pro-Trump or anti-Trump camp, for the purposes of this story, I really don’t care. As I document this all for The Absurdists’ Hall of Fame, what’s important to remember is that America is pretty much split right down the middle and ripping itself to shreds over the insanity surrounding this White House.

However, here is the TRULY ABSURD thing: I believe we’re heading toward a new HOT Civil War; CIVIL WAR II, if you will. It could happen any day now.

Think that’s crazy? Think that’s, well, ABSURD?

Here’s how it could happen tomorrow….

As I write this, a special counsel (read: special prosecutor) by the name of Robert Mueller is investigating Russian meddling with and interference in the 2016 US election and possible ties to (read: collusion by) Donald Trump, his campaign and its associates. Over time, the investigation appears to have unveiled criminal activity that now comes right up to the doorstep of the president himself, with even Trump’s business relationship to Russia being investigated; something Trump has said would be a red line not to be crossed. But, cross it Mueller did.

So, how could we get into a new American Civil War? Picture this:

Mueller subpoenas Trump to answer questions under oath or even testify before a grand jury, but Trump refuses; just says, “Nope. Not doing it” and doesn’t show up.

You can’t do that in America. You can’t just not show up. Oh, you can, but then you face contempt of court charges and possible prison time. Even the US Supreme Court decided in United States v. Nixon (Remember Nixon?) that a sitting American president is not above the law in this matter. SCOTUS voted unanimously that Nixon could NOT use executive privilege to avoid subpoenas.

Now, let’s fast forward past all the legal wrangling to the day of the big confrontation. Mueller demands Trump come in for questioning under subpoena. Trump tells Mueller to go screw himself. Mueller sends the US Marshalls over to the White House to compel Trump to testify or be dragged off to jail. Trump tells the Secret Service this is illegal and essentially an attempt to kidnap the President of the United States. Now we have a standoff between US Marshalls and the Secret Service on the steps of the White House.

The American people choose sides.


Or, Trump maneuvers to fire Mueller before his work is done. The Congress refuses to impeach him.

The American people choose sides.


Perhaps Trump maneuvers to fire Mueller before his work is done. The Congress moves to impeach him, but is stopped dead in its tracks when Trump engages in the only sure-fire solution to protect himself, his family and their associates: presidential pardons et al. This, of course, seals his fate in historical infamy. (Which, quite frankly, Trump has done already, so what the hell!)

The American people choose sides.


Again, if nothing else, Absurdism is alive and well in America. CIVIL WAR II might be absurd, but in these absurd times … unfortunately … such a scenario is FAR from crazy.

… and that’s what makes it so crazy.


© 2018 Joseph P. Buonfiglio     All Rights Reserved.

An ABSURDIST Irish Blessing

Jesus, Now the Agnostic Italian is Gonna Lecture Us on How to be Irish?!
Where Did I Put that Grappa?

by Joe Buonfiglio

I’m Italian, and yet I feel compelled to offer up some obligatory Irish stuff in honor of some guy sainted because his fucking around with snakes would eventually lead to acceptable levels of public urination and vomiting, as well as providing the “Bail Bondsman’s Christmas” via nationwide “drunk and disorderly” charges. My own overindulgence in green-dyed Nectar of the Hops aside, in my defense, my wife is Irish; thus, perhaps you can afford me some slack to be cut.

But while my gene pool dances to a Latin (as in the dead language) beat, I’m also an Absurdist. So this Wearin’ O’ the Green Day, let me leave you with an Absurdist’s version of an old Irish blessing….


May the road rise up to meet you (although that’s some seriously scary visual imagery right there and quite suggestive of alcoholism in and of itself).

 May the wind be always at your back (as well as the intense flatus generated from the ginormous quantity of cabbage you seem adamant about consuming with the fattiest of meats every constructed in the Almighty’s lapse of Intelligence during one of his periods of Design).

 May the sun shine warm upon your face (for as you lie in the gutter, you’ll need all the help from the elements you can get to dry whatever unholy effluent you’re covered in there in the street);

the rains fall soft upon your fields (of electromagnetic waves that have propelled you into another dimension now that you’ve consumed so many “Irish Car Bombs” as to find yourself within the horrorscape of an alternative universe whereby St. Patrick is now a Spaniard legendary for driving all the paella out of Moscow).

 and until we meet again,

may God hold you in the palm of His hand…

… lest He, too, drunkenly stumble and crush you with His rather prodigious butt-cheek.

… I mean seriously, Dude with a capital “D,” don’t they have Weight Watchers in Heaven?


And for thoughtlessly butchering this traditional Irish blessing based in an ancient and revered Celtic prayer, may the God of your choosing forgive this old Italian Agnostic-Absurdist for high crimes and misdemeanors against St. Patrick. I’m quite sure my Irish in-laws are plotting some fiendish retaliation against my person as you read this. And will somebody PLEASE bail me out; my cellmate reeks of green puke and the four-leaf clover someone shoved up his ass just adds insult to injury.

Now, where did I put that grappa? Ah, here it is next to the limoncello.



© 2018 Joseph P. Buonfiglio     All Rights Reserved.



by Joe Buonfiglio

If you see me at a sporting event and I am NOT taking a knee during the national anthem, it is not out of some ardent show of patriotism. The Star-Spangled Banner aside, it’s because even if I want to, I cannot. That is to say that I physically can’t do it.

No, not sing the national anthem; don’t be an imbecile. I’m talking about going to the ground on one knee. Bending on any level is off the menu for me these days.

See, my left knee is gone.

Simply stated, it has had it.


It blew out a few months ago; but with the help of some intense physically therapy, it had been feeling a lot better. As a matter of fact, it had been feeling so good, my wife and I took a long walk downtown before seeing a movie as we would do back in the “old days,” the pre- “his high school football injury finally caught up with him” bum-knee days.

Bad idea.

It started giving me such a hard time that I almost had to walk out of the theater halfway through the film. Since then, it has gotten progressively worse until now it’s just … well … shot; totally, unforgivingly, excruciatingly shot.

If you, too, were to or do find yourself suffering under these or similar circumstances (perhaps your RIGHT knee is shot), it is important not to despair; look on the bright side and remember:

Thanks to your crumbling joint, you can now get out of being the one in the family who cleans the toilets.

Tell your significant other to plant his or her own damn petunias this year; gardening is out as far as you’re concerned.

Sorry, but becoming an Agnostic or Atheist is now a necessity, as any sort of respectful kneeling just flew out the stained-glass window.


And you can call Triple-A, because my days of changing tires on this old rust-bucket are O-V-E-R over, Rover!

And finally, and most importantly, remember that — as God intended — most liquor stores deliver!


Unless you live in a state such as North Carolina.

… like me.

… which has an ABC “Alcoholic Beverage Control” store system.

… which means the state has a monopoly on the sale of booze.

The State of North Carolina does NOT deliver.

It does not care how much your knee hurts.

Sucks to be me, I guess.

Oh say can you see? Are you kidding? I can’t even bend my knee enough to put on a fresh pair of underwear.


© 2018 Joseph P. Buonfiglio     All Rights Reserved.



by Joe Buonfiglio

Carl the Squirrel
    Loves his nuts.
He doesn’t like
   Raccoon butts.
Carl makes Kevin
   A nervous wreck.
But he’s a squirrel
   So what the heck.

He’s Carl … the … SQUIRREL!

How can anything be this bad? … … … OR, is it so bad that it’s good? YOU DECIDE! Here comes “Carl the Squirrel”!

So, make sure you play it in HD mode (1080p HD), remember to subscribe to my YouTube channel and all its absurdly weird and wonderful playlists, and enjoy!


© 2018 Joseph P. Buonfiglio     All Rights Reserved.
All photos and videos are © 2017-2018 Joseph P. Buonfiglio with All Rights Reserved.
(Special thanks to Paul Ender for the wonderful illustrations.)



by Joe Buonfiglio

I’m a weird guy. Of this, there is no secret. My mind is a labyrinth of absurdist chaos. My body is a temple … of doom. I’m just as happy to shock as I am to educate, just as content within the context of anarchy as I am with enlightenment, just as pleased with uncontrollable flatulence as with realizing spiritual elucidation.

And herein lies the tumultuous confusion I lay at my own feet; at least in consideration of my various social-media manifestations. See, my crowd, the weirdos that follow me across social-media platforms, should — I emphasize SHOULD — appreciate my more ribald, locker-room “intelligentsia” approaches to the Absurdist art form d’ literati. It is my feverish attempts at political commentary that they should abhor and for which I should be admonished. However, if this is the case, how does one explain this:

From what bowels of which demon OR what wings from which angel did this acknowledgement of social-media imbalance, of the “normal” realm being thrust into Bizarro World, come? I blast the 45th President of the United States and GAIN followers, but a couple of quick farts jokes and months of efforts to expand my base of followers … hard-fought followers … gets flushed away as if so much cerebral effluent?


Seriously, what’s next? Is Cinnabon now considered health food? Is Dick Dastardly now the hero of The Wacky Races? Are phallic components the new normal at Build-A-Bear Workshops?

Where will this all end?!

And thus, with a heavy heart in my chest and some pornographic playing cards stuffed into my pants, I admit defeat; I will never, ever, figure social media out. It is a most unholy beast for which true understanding can never be attained or even attempted therein.

I have absolutely no idea where this shall all lead. I can only hope that someday — perhaps long after Bill Cosby is but a faded, distant memory of zero consequence to those of us left to endure the mindless tedium of human existence — it will again be acceptable to polite society to consume Jell-O pudding.

God, I miss Jell-O pudding … and Jell-O pudding farts. Now THOSE were some trapped-in-an-elevator moments even a Nihilist could love.


is the world

coming to?


© 2018 Joseph P. Buonfiglio     All Rights Reserved.
All photos are © 2018 Joseph P. Buonfiglio with All Rights Reserved.

Words of Love Spoken … Absurdly

by Joe Buonfiglio

At the time of this writing, it is the welcomed, the beloved, and the dreaded, the feared Valentine’s Day! For some, it is a time of expressing undying devotion to the one who most pulls the heartstrings in your life. For others, it is a lonely barstool moment reminding you that this person has been lost, has not yet been found or may never exist.

All in all, as holidays go, Valentine’s Day is a bit of a mixed bag on a societal level, emotionally speaking.

So because the Holy Roman Catholic Church makes some guy all hoity-toity in its own version of a Hall of Fame (although, it is uncertain whether St. Valentine was one individual or a pseudonym for several), greeting card companies find yet another excuse to guilt us into buying their cheesy products and the military-floral industrial complex conspires to funnel our hard-earned cash from our wallets into the latest in stealth killing machines by jacking the cost of roses up so high that we must decide between expressing our love to a significant other or sending our kid to college for another year. It’s fucking absurd … and that finally brings me to the point of this week’s diatribe.

As a self-diagnosed “Literary Absurdist,” I was most curious: What do some of the greatest Absurdists in history have to say on the subject of LOVE?

ALBERT CAMUS: Some people consider French philosopher, author and journalist Albert Camus (1913-1960) to be the father of modern Absurdism. And while he tended to speak more on life than love specifically, these little tidbits relate to the subject of love quite well if you think about it … and, in some cases, read between the lines:

“How unbearable, for women, is the tenderness which a man can give them without love. For men, how bittersweet this is.”

“Charm is a way of getting the answer yes without asking a clear question.”

“Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal.”

“Love is the kind of illness that does not spare the intelligent or the dull.”

“We always deceive ourselves twice about the people we love – first to their advantage, then to their disadvantage.”

— Albert Camus


Another many often attribute with significant contribution to the Absurdism movement is Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard (1813-1855). Kierkegaard is widely considered to be the first existentialist philosopher, so his views on love are, well, a bit like this:

“Love is the expression of the one who loves, not of the one who is loved. Those who think they can love only the people they prefer do not love at all. Love discovers truths about individuals that others cannot see.”

“Don’t forget to love yourself.”

“Love is all, it gives all, and it takes all.”

“Love does not alter the beloved, it alters itself.”

— Søren Kierkegaard


German-speaking Bohemian Jewish novelist and short story writer Franz Kafka (1833-1924), beloved by Absurdists everywhere as the author of The Metamorphosis, had an interesting take on the subject of love:

“Love is a drama of contradictions.”

“I can love only what I can place so high above me that I cannot reach it.”

“I belong to you; there is really no other way of expressing it, and that is not strong enough.”

“You are at once both the quiet and the confusion of my heart.”

” Love is, that you are the knife which I plunge into myself.”

— Franz Kafka


The prominent Spanish surrealist and artist Salvador Dalí (1904-1989) is revered by the Absurdist for best being able to bring absurd philosophy to life within the visual arts. His view on love reflects this well:

“For me, love must be ugly, looks must be divine and death must be beautiful.”

“The first man to compare the cheeks of a young woman to a rose was obviously a poet; the first to repeat it was possibly an idiot.”

— Salvador Dalí


Absurdist fiction tends to make use of literary devices such as dark humor, irrationality, escapism and satire to delve into the meaninglessness, even nihilistic surreality of the human experience of incompleteness or meaninglessness. There are few who mastered this craft better than author Kurt Vonnegut (1922-2007). Here are some of Vonnegut’s thoughts on the subject of love:

“Lot’s wife, of course, was told not to look back where all those people and their homes had been. But she did look back, and I love her for that, because it was so human.”

“It took us that long to realize that a purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved.”

“There is love enough in this world for everybody, if people will just look.”

— Kurt Vonnegut


So now, I shall leave you within the context of this absurd celebration of love by quoting the author best known for creating the Absurdist’s Bible (and one of the main reasons why I got into the Absurdist literature game), The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Mister Douglas Adams (1952–2001). And while he was not referring to love directly, I believe his subconscious knew EXACTLY what is was doing, for they are the two key tenets — No, key LAWS, actually. — to a successful mastery of love within the context of relationships:

“I’d far rather be happy than right any day.”


— Douglas Adams

As surreal, mystical, baffling, confusing and utterly ABSURD as it can all seem, love will find a way.


 WILL find.

A way.


© 2018 Joseph P. Buonfiglio     All Rights Reserved.



by Joe Buonfiglio

Absurdism has entered the Space Age … and I couldn’t be happier.

At the time of this writing, there is a $100,000 cherry-red Tesla Roadster automobile with an “astronaut” mannequin called “Starman” dressed in an official SpaceX space suit at the wheel, David Bowie’s Space Oddity blasting in a perpetual loop on the car’s stereo, and with “DON’T PANIC” on the electric car’s navi screen as a homage to Douglas Adams’ The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, as well as a message on its circuit board reading, “Made on Earth by humans” heading toward Mars. It is the personal vehicle of billionaire Elon Musk: the founder, CEO and lead designer of SpaceX; co-founder, CEO and product architect of Tesla.; co-chairman of OpenAI; founder and CEO of Neuralink; and founder of The Boring Company.

After being launched into space by SpaceX’s “Falcon Heavy” rocket, the Tesla spent about six hours orbiting Earth, and then continued on its approximately 6-month journey to Mars.

Unfortunately, it looks as if it will overshoot Mars’ orbit … and wind up … in an asteroid belt; poor ultra-expensive midlife-crisis car.

This is a magnificent feat of aerospace engineering.

This is a magnificent feat of Absurdism engineering.

In the modern era, Elon Musk is truly the Absurdist’s friend.

When Elon Musk dies, not only will all the great space pioneers who have passed welcome him into Heaven with open arms, so will Albert Camus … and Søren Kierkegaard … and Salvador Dali … and Franz Kafka … and Douglas Adams.

… especially Douglas Adams.

So for Absurdists everywhere, THANK YOU Elon Musk, THANK YOU Tesla, THANK YOU dummy-astronaut Starman, THANK YOU David Bowie, THANK YOU Douglas Adams, THANK YOU SpaceX and your new Falcon Heavy rocket, THAN—

You know, ironically, “Falcon Heavy” is my little pet name for my willy.

Sorry, I—

Just … sorry.

And remember…

Enjoy the

Story © 2018 Joseph P. Buonfiglio     All Rights Reserved.

Space video and picture courtesy of SpaceX

“DON’T PANIC” sign courtesy of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy